One Step Beyond
by Youkaineko
Summary: Watson goes the extra mile for his patients and ends up paying the price of pain and infection. Holmes isn't a doctor, but he isn't one to half-do anything.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello there. This is my very first ever Sherlock Holmes fanfic. I don't write very much, so hopefully that will change soon. (actually, I write quite a lot, just never finish anything. I've only uploaded this so that I will finish it.) And it is very short, I do apologize. Hopefully as I get into the flow of writing, the chapters will start to get longer._

_This was inspired by me working all day with a sore leg and having to limp around all day. It reminded me of Watson, so here goes... Hope you enjoy! Please review, especially if you see where I can improve!_

**_Disclaimer: We both know I don't own Sherlock Holmes or Dr. Watson, or 221B Baker street, even..._**

* * *

"Watson! It's nearly midnight. Where have you been?" Holmes asked, somewhat alarmed as he had not heard from his friend since luncheon.

He watched, already deducing the answer even before he'd asked the question, as his friend made his way to his chair, his limp more pronounced than usual, and sank slowly with a poorly suppressed groan.

"Watson, why on earth were you out with patients so late tonight? You're clearly exhausted and in pain."

"Tomorrow's Easter." He replied simply.

Holmes cocked an eyebrow. "And that explains you staying out at all hours of the night?"

"Easily. Tomorrow all the local physicians will be spending time with their families. Only emergency situations will be taken care of. I needed to make certain that as many patients as possible would be doing well enough to enjoy Easter with their families. And the doctors too, for that matter." Watson bit back another groan as he reached forward for a cup of tea, giving up midway and reclining back again.

Holmes answered, handing him the cup of tea, "That's...noble and such, but who is going to take care of you tomorrow?"

"I'll be fine." He answered, somewhat crossly, as he sipped his tea, which was rather tepid.

Holmes sighed and sat back, picking up his violin. He played something soft, and one of Watson's favourites. Within just a few minutes, Watson was dozing in his chair, nearly dropping his half empty tea cup before Holmes slipped it out of his hand and replaced it on the table. He drew a blanket around his friend, dimmed the gaslights and went into his bedroom.

At around three o'clock, Watson awoke to a shooting pain in his leg. It was so sharp that he had to bite down on his lip to keep from groaning aloud. He reached for his bag, which he'd dropped next to the chair when he returned earlier, and pulled out a powder for the pain. He glanced across the room to where the water pitcher was, sighed, and slowly forced himself up. He made it about three excruciating steps before his leg gave out completely and he fell to the floor with a cry.

He forced himself into a sitting position and leaned against the settee, drawing in deep breaths trying to focus the pain away. Perhaps this was bad enough to warrant a small dose of morphine. He bit back another moan as he began to make his way back to his bag. He stopped short when he saw Holmes walk from behind the chair. He silently pulled out a clean syringe and the bottle of morphine that the doctor kept for medical purpose only, as he repeatedly reminded Holmes.

* * *

_Er, ok. So that was it. Let me know what you think. Chapter two will be up by Saturday night. (I hope.)_

_Thank you for reading! :D_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I know this is short, but I had some things come up and since I promised to have it up by Saturday, and here it is Monday (SOOOO SORRY!!!!!), here's what I have. Next chapter will be up soon. And be extra long as an apology!_

_And THANK YOU to all who reviewed the first chapter!!! It really means a lot to know that so many authors who's stories I respect are reading and LIKING mine! Thanks!!!_

**Chapter 2**

Holmes had helped Watson up onto the settee, propped his leg up, and covered him with a blanket. The doctor was sleeping peacefully now, but the detective was quite restless. Watson was a man with too much patience and too many patients. He was going to push himself too far one day. _If he hasn't already…_ Holmes noted as he glanced at the slight flush creeping onto the doctors cheeks.

While Holmes was helping him up, he noted that Watson was a bit warmer than was entirely normal, but attributed it to the heat of the fire combined with the exertion it took for him to try and get the water pitcher. Now he wasn't so sure his friend hadn't developed an infection of sorts in his hurt leg.

He had begun to play some on his violin, but as his thoughts wandered, his tunes turned from soothing harmonies to harsh randomness which he was sure disturbed Watson's sleep. Instead he took to going through his old case notes, revising and adding new information to profiles and reorganizing the whole system twice.

****

Around 7 o'clock the next morning, Holmes was awoken from his light doze by movement accompanied by a soft moan. His eyes snapped open and he observed the doctor trying to stand and make his way to the stairs. He actually made it half-way before he had to pause, leaning against the mantle, his face a picture of pain.

Holmes was by his side in a second and moved to help him into the nearest chair. Watson brushed him off, informing him that he needed to get cleaned and dressed for Easter Mass. Holmes politely informed him that Easter Mass had started over an hour ago and, at the pace the doctor was going, would be over just as he got there. Watson merely sent him a weak glare and stumbled along the wall and miraculously up the stairs and into his bedroom.

Holmes sighed and returned to his own room. He expected Watson was going to collapse soon, and certainly didn't want it to be on the way to or at the church, at least not alone. He determined to accompany him.

****

Holmes was cleaned, shaven, dressed and awaiting Watson in the sitting room within ten minutes. He had been listening carefully to Watson's movements upstairs and hadn't heard anything for the past couple of minutes. That didn't necessarily mean anything, though. What did mean something was the crash he heard shortly after.

He half ran up the stairs and knocked on his friend's bedroom door. Getting no answer, and hearing nothing at all, he tried the handle. Unlocked, thank goodness. He pushed the door open as far as it would go before it hit something. It opened just far enough for him to be able to poke his head through. He would have been surprised if he didn't expect to find that Watson's unconscious form was unintentionally barricading the door.

Holmes wedged his way through the small opening and dropped by Watson's side.

By all appearances, Watson had managed to get his trousers on and put his shirt on, though had not yet begun to button it. Holmes lifted him up under his arms and laid him in bed, noticing that the doctor was warmer than usual. He laid a hand on his forehead and confirm a slight fever. Holmes swore and went to fetch a basin and a pitcher of cool water, a wash cloth, and Watson's bag from the sitting room, not that he was quite sure how useful how much use the latter would be, but he'd try anyway.

* * *

_Again, I am super sorry this was up so late!_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Okay, so this time, I actually do have a somewhat decent excuse for this being so ridiculously late. For which I am, yet again, terribly sorry. BUT I was playing softball with my church and was hit in the wrist and couldn't type for a little over a week. And right after that came college finals, so there was no way. But I did work and hand wrote chapter 3 (thankfully it was my left hand) and have now gotten it typed up and posted. It is un-beta'd as I didn't want to leave ya'll waiting any longer than necessary. Again, I am SUPER SORRY about the wait. Now that it is summer, I will have a little more time to work on this, though. :D_

_Also, a BIG thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited, and/or put on alerts. Its great motivation and I love you all!_

_

* * *

_**Chapter 3**

Holmes had managed to get Watson into bed and had just returned with the doctor's bag from the sitting room in time to see his invalid friend's eyelids flutter open in slight confusion.

"Have a good nap?" Holmes jested, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.

Watson looked up in mild bemusement. "What? What happened?" he asked rather weakly.

"I told you that you would collapse if you didn't rest. Being a doctor and all you really should be aware of the effects of a fever on top of exhaustion."

Watson sighed closing his eyes again. "How long, then?"

"How long? Were you out? Only twenty minutes or so, but long enough." Holmes answered.

Sitting up, Watson reached for his bag, and pulled a headache powder packet out, as Holmes handed him a glass of water.

He drained the glass and moved past Holmes to set it on the bedside table, then began to rise.

"Watson, what on earth do you think you're doing?"

"Finishing dressing." He responded with a weak glare.

"Watson-."

"Holmes. I am fine. Just… tired."

"Watson, you just collapsed and you're going to try and convince me that you are simply sleepy?" Holmes countered, raising an eyebrow.

"I am trying to convince you of nothing. Merely speaking the truth." He paused in his dressing, catching himself on the dresser, placing a hand to his forehead.

As soon as the dizziness had come over him, however, it seemed to have passed, and Watson batted away Holmes steadying hand, and politely kicked him out of his bedroom as he dressed.

Holmes stood dumbfounded outside of Watson's door, not having missed his friend's pale complexion, contrasting starkly with his flushed cheeks, and his trembling hands.

After a moment, Holmes 'tactfully' hollered through the closed door, "Where do you think you're going, anyway?"

A muffled cough, then , "Just because I missed mass does not mean I do not intend on joining Mrs. Hudson for Easter Luncheon."

Holmes huffed in exasperation and leaned against the wall. Either Watson was getting him back for all of the times he had been an unruly patient or doctors truly did make the worst patients. If he were to guess--not guess, deduce using logic--he would say the latter. Watson just did not have it in him to hold a grudge.

Moments later, Watson emerged fully dressed, though, Holmes noted, his breathing was somewhat laboured, and he was covered in a thin layer of sweat.

Holmes followed Watson's limping, pained steps down the stairs to the sitting room. Watson sat heavily in his chair, propping his sore leg on the ottoman he kept for that reason, closing his eyes and sighing involuntarily as he finally allowed his body to relax.

Watson had drifted off to sleep shortly after sitting down again, much to Holmes' relief, so he turned to organizing his index and taking inventory of his remaining chemicals, composing a list of things to buy tomorrow from the apothecary's.

Mrs. Hudson had returned from Mass about one hour ago and was working diligently to fix what smelled like a beautiful Easter Supper. She had come up shortly after returning, but was deterred from fussing over Watson thanks to Holmes' quick wit in explaining that "the doctor had a rough night of it and overslept."

Just under half an hour later, Mrs. Hudson was back in their rooms telling them that Luncheon was ready. The were joining her in her apartments to-day so she would not have to dine alone. At least, that was why Watson was. Holmes was so that he would have something to eat.

Arousing Watson was not so difficult, nor was getting him downstairs. In fact, he seemed to be feeling somewhat improved. At least, Holmes noticed, his appetite was not too gone as of yet.

The meal passed in light, genial conversation that Holmes was somewhat content in contributing to, until a harsh knocking on the door interrupted a rather amusing story from Mrs. Hudson's childhood.

Holmes and Watson shared a glance as Mrs. Hudson huffed up to answer the door. They did not want to be whoever it was who had interrupted their landlady's meal on Easter so rudely; however, not two minutes later, a boy of no older than 17 was shown into the dining room and looked imploringly at the doctor.

Holmes noticed recognition in Watson's eyes and he stood immediately, clutching the table a little harder than he normally would have.

"What's happened?" He clipped in a tone from his military days.

"Mum's gone into labour." The boy answered breathlessly, eyes wide.

Watson swore under his breath, excused himself, and barked orders to the boy to fetch his bag from upstairs while he put on his coat and hat.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Watson returned that night, at nearly 10 o'clock, much the worse for wear, leaning heavily on his cane in one hand, the stair banister with the other, and covered in a mess of blood.

He stuck his head into the sitting room momentarily, nodding to Holmes who stood immediately upon seeing him, then trudged the remaining stairs to his bedroom where he promptly collapsed into his bed, messy clothes and all.

He heard a tapping on the door and before he could grunt in either affirmative or negative, Holmes pushed the door open. Forcing one eye open, Watson saw Holmes set down a cup and saucer of presumably tea on his bedside table and retrieve Watson's thermometer from his bag.

"Holmes. I told you-" but before he could finish he broke off coughing, sitting up and clutching the blanket under him.

Holmes handed him a glass of water when the coughing fit ended and replied, "Of course you're fine. But as a man of logic, I need proof of this, and since you are so certain, you should have no consternations against my gathering evidence."

Defeated, Watson allowed Holmes to place the thermometer under his tongue and waited the allotted time for it to come out. Just as he was starting to drift off, he felt the glass stick slide out of his mouth and vaguely heard a low sigh from the direction Holmes stood.

"102, doctor. I would recommend bed rest, though in much warmer and… cleaner conditions." He said the last bit wrinkling his nose slightly.

Having finally changed into his nightgown and drinking nearly half of the tea Holmes forced into him, Watson curled up under the duvet on his bed and fell into a much needed sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Watson awoke rather suddenly. He opened his eyes and tried to figure out what exactly had awoken him. He heard nothing but a faint wheeze. Then he realized said wheeze was himself. He sat up shakily and reached for the glass of water Holmes had left on his night stand taking slow, deep breaths. After a few tentative sips of water, and assurance that his body was more than content with the intake, he drank the entire glass down. Feeling somewhat better, Watson began to take inventory of himself. He noted that his fever seemed to be down some, but the wheezing in his chest was definitely worse. As was his headache. He felt slightly nauseated, but attributed that more to lack of food than the illness itself.

He got up to head down to the sitting room and opened the door to see Mrs. Hudson standing with a tray.

"Well, Dr. Watson, you're looking much better." Mrs. Hudson commented, shuffling past and setting the tray on his bedside table. Watson followed her and sat on the bed, worn from even that mild activity. Mrs. Hudson poured him a cup of tea and uncovered the soup and toast she had prepared.

"Potato and leek, your farourite." She smiled, setting a napkin in his lap and a spoon in his hand. She left the room with the promise to come back for the dishes.

Halfway through the bowl of soup and most of a slice of toast, Watson decided he was done. He decided to go down and check on Holmes. He was sick of his room anyway.


End file.
